


Sun Stroke

by peachpety



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beach Holidays, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Boys Kissing, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Sectumsempra Scars (Harry Potter), Semi-Public Sex, Slice of Life, Smut, Summer Love, Summer Vacation, TasteofSmut 2020, Touch, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25426075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpety/pseuds/peachpety
Summary: Draco, Harry, and a handful of friends take a summer holiday at the beach. With the help of a sultry sea setting, encouraging friends, and a fisherman’s jumper, Harry and Draco's mutual attraction swells and things get hot on a salty summer night.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 54
Kudos: 410
Collections: Taste of Smut Fest





	Sun Stroke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VeelaWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeelaWings/gifts).



> Touch was the singular sense identified in this Taste of Smut prompt, and for me, nothing is more sensually tactile than the beach. Influenced by a lovely prompt, a specific lyric about a boy on a beach wrapped in a sweater and an 80’s summer playlist (check it out on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1mTlEu0GZlfaSYZhCYD2G8?si=kkd6i6KCQMCYz8dzGLkQng)), I created this beachy, sexy little piece for the sweet VeelaWings. Thank you to my ever-patient and brilliant betas, toluene and empyrean_seas - y'all helped me salvage this thing with a Hail Mary in the fourth quarter, and I couldn’t be happier with the result. I treasure you more than you will ever know. Enjoy! xoxo peach

Draco tucks his hands inside the sleeves of Theo’s hoodie. Sinking deeper into the collapsable chair, he digs his toes into still-warm sand.

It’s another beautiful beach-side evening — one of many that will soon complete a fortnight. The humid air cools rapidly in the twilight, and the ocean’s flat surface reflects the sky, painted oranges and purples by the setting sun. 

Content exhaustion settles in Draco’s bones, his energy leached by a full day of sun and surf. He shifts. His muscles flex with a lingering soreness from that last wave blindsiding him. It had been Potter’s fault, of course. Potter had absolutely no business popping up out of the sea like that, the water pulling his swim trunks down well below his tan line.

Draco can’t stop thinking about pale skin punctuated by two perfect back dimples and ample bum cleavage. He knows two things for sure. Potter needs properly fitted shorts. And salt water burns nasal passages.

He watches the sun linger at the world’s edge, an acid blue dot on the inside of his eyelids with every blink. He watches the terns fishing the twilight shoreline and the fish jumping for insects. Anything but the wizard lounging against a large piece of driftwood across the bonfire. 

The wizard who looks stupidly fucking fit in that fisherman’s jumper.

“Are you thinking about Harry?” Luna asks. She twists her wand to rotate several marshmallows Levitating over the bonfire. 

Pansy snuggles back between the vee of Luna’s legs, paper plate in hand, biscuits and chocolate ready. ”Always,” she snorts.

“I am not,” Draco lies. “I was thinking about—“ he glances at the sea, “shorebirds.”

“Oh,” Luna shrugs, resting her chin on top of Pansy’s head. “You have an expression like you get when you look at Harry and you think nobody is watching. It’s your Harry Face.” 

Luna thankfully ignores Draco’s Mortified Face. 

Pansy hums. “That or his morning constitutional was unsatisfactory.”

Draco glares and slams back the last dregs of his beer, cringing. It’s a truly barbaric drink, but annoyingly satisfying after a day on the beach. He stands and stretches.

Pansy’s laughter fades into surprise. “Leaving already?”

He crushes the beer can with a Reducto and banishes it to the recycle bin per Hermione’s request. “I’m tired,” he says.

“Yes, ogling is tiring business.” Pansy cuts her dark eyes to Harry, a satisfied smirk to her lips.

“I am not ogling.”

Raucous laughter draws Draco’s attention back across the fire licking flames into the evening sky. Potter and Weasley laugh at something Theo says, and Hermione watches Theo with an adoring smile.

Draco’s traitorous eyes map dark curls wild from brine and broad shoulders stretching creamy cable knit. A bicep mounds under basket stitches as a beer is lifted to sun-chapped lips, and bloody hell he _does_ have a Harry Face, he’s making it right now! He wishes he had more shitty beer to toss down his throat.

“The man says as he ogles,” Pansy mutters dryly. She accepts the golden marshmallows Luna Levitates to the plate. “I have a nice digestive potion if you want, you know, to get things moving.”

Draco blanches and sticks out his tongue. Pansy returns the gesture and then pulls Luna’s fingers to her mouth, licking away gooey marshmallow.

Draco rolls his eyes right back over to Potter and catches him trailing his gaze up Draco’s legs and torso, green eyes finally meeting his own.

“Harry must be tired, too,” Luna observes. 

Potter smiles and bites his lip. Draco’s stomach lurches, warmth spreading through him, a tide rising. He mutters about finding more beer and swiftly heads toward the rental.

A hair shy of fleeing.

* * *

Laughter fades into roaring waves and rustling dune grasses as Draco walks toward the three-story beach house. His feet sink into cool, loose sand that hours earlier had scorched his soles in the mad dash from the boardwalk traversing the dunes to the ocean. Both Potter and Weasley had beat him to the surf, and Draco would have won — he had been ahead by a broom’s length — if he hadn’t stepped on that shell.

Draco’s magic begins to keen, a seagull’s cry, vibrating expectantly, putting him on edge. A moment later familiar magic, sensual and sunrise warm, washes over him, engulfing him as it has every day since the Portkey deposited him at this quaint vacation home. 

Harry calls out, trotting up. “You’re leaving?” he asks, falling into step beside Draco. 

“Sterling powers of observation, Potter.”

Harry pouts his chapped lip. “Don’t go in yet,” he says. “We were talking about a walk on the beach. Ron wants to find some new night creatures.”

“Weasley _is_ a night creature,” Draco mutters, pleased when Harry snorts in response. “I’m quite content to avoid the sand fleas nipping my ankles, thank you.” He resists the urge to scratch at a particularly bothersome bite on his shin.

Harry’s eyes fall to Draco’s legs as they alight the stairs and step onto the boardwalk. “Your legs look… good,” he says. “You can barely see the bites. I didn’t know sand flea allergies were a thing.”

“I have delicate skin,” Draco says flatly. He focuses on the boardwalk rolling out from under his feet as he walks. A sea breeze rushes over the dunes, cool and briny, and he pulls his hands back into his sleeves. 

“We could just sit by the bonfire,” Harry suggests. “It’ll keep you warmer than Theo’s hoodie.” A gust lifts Harry’s fringe, exposing a small furrow between his eyebrows.

“I’m planning on going to bed,” Draco says. “The sun is draining.”

Harry’s lips twitch. “Yeah and that last wave really pounded you.”

Draco purses his lips. “I was caught unawares.”

Harry chuckles and nudges Draco with an elbow to his side. “It was kinda cute, you sputtering with your hair in your eyes. You looked like a drowned—“

“If you say ferret, Potter,” Draco grits through his teeth, “I’ll pound _you._ ”

“If I’m lucky.” A whisper beneath his breath.

Draco stops abruptly, heart thumping. Heat rises up his neck like the heat radiating from the rough, sun-warped boards beneath his feet. 

Harry walks ahead, turning backwards to face Draco. “I’m happy to pound you—” Harry bites his half-grin, eyes glinting emerald, “—in a two to zero victory in a race to the house,” he finishes. “No sea shells to step on this time.” He winks and takes off running.

Draco stands frozen on the boardwalk. His heart careens wildly in his chest, lurching ahead into the race. Harry’s magic swirls around him still, urging his own magic to engage, pulling him like an undertow toward something exciting, terrifying, and grand. Something inevitable. 

Amongst the grasses rustling in the sea air, Draco makes his decision.

He smiles. 

He’s going to surrender to the current.

* * *

Draco Apparates to the vacant first floor deck and props himself against the railing, affecting a nonchalant lean. His elbow slips off the rail, dislodging seashells Harry has lined up along the railtop. He picks up a shell and turns it in his fingers. The rough grooves snag his skin. 

Harry only collects the imperfect shells, pocked and etched with irregular scars. He had been as joyous as the laughing seagulls that day, picking through flotsam and jetsam dotting the sand, dodging flat waves chasing toes. Draco could hardly look at him; he was so beautiful as he talked and laughed, his hands in constant motion. 

Draco had been half-hard all afternoon.

The sound of Harry bounding up the stairs sets Draco’s stomach squirming like fish swimming in a big swell he’s about to dive under. Harry alights on the deck, his jumper stretching across his chest as he inhales. He draws up when he spots Draco, eyes widening.

“How… ?” He shakes his head. “Ah. Sneaky.”

“Slytherin,” Draco drawls. “I win.”

Harry approaches and leans his forearms on the railing. He smells of coconut and bonfire. “I contest your victory,” Harry says. “No fair using magic.”

“You never said no magic,” Draco says imperiously. “Clearly I won. What is my prize?”

Harry picks up a shell and works it through his fingers. Draco fixates on the dusting of dark hair on the tops of his fingers, the antlers tattooed on the inside of his wrist. 

“What do you want?” Harry asks softly. He turns his gaze to Draco and goes still, a pause at the top of an inhale, a gull’s wings stilled by the updraft of a thermal. 

Draco’s heart squeezes out one, two, three slow beats. 

“You,” he breathes on a shuddering exhale. 

Harry moves, quick and sure, crowding Draco against the rail, trapping him with his arms. “I’m bloody yours,” he growls. 

Their lips meet in a rush of breath. Harry swipes his tongue into Draco’s ready mouth, curling the tip, coaxing Draco into his own mouth with a moan. Harry tastes like summer, honeysuckle sweet and crystalline bright, chapped lips rubbing rough. Draco clutches at Harry’s jumper and his fingers sink between loops of soft yarn. 

Voices and laughter float up from the boardwalk, announcing the approach of their friends. Draco turns toward the noise. “We’re about to be interrupted,” he says, surprised the world dares to exist outside of Harry’s kiss.

Harry nuzzles behind Draco’s ear. “You have a little heart-shaped freckle here that has been driving me mad for days.” He presses his lips to the skin.

The sound of voices, alarmingly close, rise up from the foot of the stairs.

“Harry,” Draco says, urgent, breathless. 

Harry’s eyes flame green and hopeful. “Say my name like that again,” he demands gently. 

Draco’s breath hitches. He leans to Harry’s ear, the dark hair tickling his nose, breath humid on ear folds.

“ _Harry._ ” 

Harry takes firm hold of Draco’s hips and turns. 

* * * 

Draco’s feet land on rough decking. He half thinks that they are still on the first floor deck, but this deck is smaller, more intimate. A crow’s nest above the main floor. Inside the glass balcony door, the bedroom is littered with clothing, the bed unmade. 

Harry’s room.

Draco hardly has time to be peeved that Harry has such a choice room before he is pinned to the railing again. Harry surges forward and licks along the sensitive underside of Draco’s top lip, his tongue nudging the seam. Draco gasps open his mouth and allows his own tongue to melt against Harry’s in a soft caress, velvet smooth.

Laughter and conversation filter up from the large deck directly below and Harry’s mouth travels down. He plants kisses on the corner of Draco’s lips, jawbone, neck, sucking the pulse.

“The way you taste,” Harry moans quietly. “My mouth waters.”

Draco gazes up at foreign star patterns in the inky sky, winking silver in the cool air. “This is madness,” he says, more to himself, drunk with lust. He is overwhelmed. Harry is everywhere, his scent, his magic, his warmth, his body.

“And I am mad for you.” Harry nuzzles Draco’s nose. “I think about you constantly, Draco,” he babbles. “When I’m lying in bed, when I wake up, in my dreams—“

“While you’re wanking,” Draco adds in a rush, chasing Harry’s lips. 

Harry’s chest wavers. “ _Fuck yes._ ”

Draco grins and catches Harry’s chin with a firm thumb, tilting it down and parting smiling lips to take his kiss. A sweet, little pleasurable noise escapes Harry’s chest, and heat blazes through Draco’s veins like afternoon sun reflecting off the water. 

The clink of glassware and the fizzing pop of a beer can from the deck below filter through the red haze of Draco’s desire. “So,” Ron’s voice hints at a grin. “Harry and Malfoy are conspicuously absent.”

Harry pulls aside the collar of Draco’s hoodie and surfs his lips into the dip behind Draco’s collarbone. Draco hugs Harry close and arches up into him, fingers tangling in curls.

Hermione’s laughter floats upwards. “So we’re just going to jump right in then."

A snort echoes into a glass. “Draco jumping Harry more like,” Pansy says. “Fuck, he’s been driving me batshit with ‘Potter this, Potter that’. It’s Hogwarts all over again but without old Voldy.”

Harry chuckles. His breath ghosts warm over spit-slick skin, eliciting shivers along Draco’s spine. Draco tugs Harry’s hair, and Harry flinches, chuckling again.

“Where do you think they are?” Theo asks.

“On the balcony above us,” Luna says, her voice airy. Draco’s stomach drops and Harry jerks his head up, eyes wide in the twilight. Luna continues, “That’s where I’d want to be.”

Pansy’s hum suggests a devilish smirk. “Shagging under the moonlight,” her voice purrs. “Delicious.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows and dives back onto Draco’s shoulder, sucking the skin onto his tongue. His leg slides between Draco’s thighs and he grinds his erection into Draco in a slow roll like a deep-ocean wave. The throb of Draco’s cock matches the pull of Harry’s mouth, priming Draco to full hardness.

“Well, it’s about bloody time, yeah?” Ron barks, as if yelling toward the balcony. Glasses and cans clink together in a celebration. 

Harry lifts his head and nods. “Yeah,” he whispers. 

He steps back and takes hold of Draco’s hands, squeezing his fingers lightly. Draco wonders if Harry can feel his racing heartbeat in his fingertips as he is tugged away from the railing. With each backward step, Harry’s grin widens, and the chatter from the deck below fades to a low murmur.

Harry drops Draco’s hands and reaches up behind his mess of hair, grabbing his jumper by the neck. Draco admires how Harry’s stomach muscles flex as he pulls the jumper overhead in one smooth swoop and tosses it aside. He sinks into a low deck chair and draws Draco between his legs with a tug to his pinky, rolling the digit between his fingers. 

Draco offers little resistance.

Warm hands slide up under Draco’s hoodie, and fingernails scratch bare skin. “Next time you’ll wear my hoodie and not Theo’s,” Harry says, voice a low rumble in his chest.

“Oh, I will?” Draco’s pulse spikes, his magic percolating at the possessive glint in Harry’s eyes.

Harry roughly rucks up the fabric to Draco’s chest, dragging one hand down Draco’s bare abdomen, and clutching the curve of his waist. “ _Mine_ ,” he says, pressing his thumb possessively into Draco’s hipbone. 

Draco’s magic roars, turbulent and roiling like a wave rising up, cresting, collapsing, crashing in on itself. He removes the hoodie hastily, the night air cool against his sun-kissed skin. “ _Yours_ ,” he says, voice raspy with want. 

Harry's magic surges and a luminescent orb appears floating beside them, bathing them with a peachy glow, illuminating Draco’s torso. Scars traverse his chest and abdomen, smooth and pearlescent, as thin as jellyfish tendrils. Harry reaches out and pauses, eyes flicking up to Draco’s, hesitant and remorseful. Draco’s lips twitch, a minor shrug. What happened between them in that musty bathroom happened a lifetime ago and has no place here on this balcony. 

He takes hold of Harry’s wrist and presses Harry’s palm flat against his chest. This time he’s sure Harry can feel his heartbeat on his fingertips. “ _Yours_ ,” he repeats.

A muscle in Harry’s jaw jumps, and Harry’s hand begins to move.

Fingertips drag down Draco’s chest, caressing whisper soft, tracing a reverent path along the webbing of scars. Harry leans forward and chases his fingers with his mouth, lips skating over criss-crossed tissue. His tongue gently laves smooth skin, and Draco’s nipples stiffen. Harry pinches the hard nubs playfully, each twist an electric current melting the muscles in Draco’s groin, plumping his cock further.

Draco moans, his desire coating the back of his throat. He caresses the hot skin at Harry’s nape, fingering the crest of Harry’s bare shoulder, skin smooth and peppered with freckles. One grouping could be the Draco constellation, minus one star. Draco presses his fingertip into the empty spot to make the map complete. For a moment, his fingerprint lingers white in a sea of rosy bronze.

Harry grabs the waistband of Draco’s shorts and glances up through dark lashes. He hitches his mouth into a half-grin, “May I?” 

Draco’s cock jerks and wetness smears the inside of his pants. He exhales a _yes_ and clumsily fumbles with the button, finally shoving down the waistband of his pants to free his straining cock. 

Harry pauses. He stares at Draco, standing erect and flushed, with an expression Draco can only describe as hungry desire, an expression Draco often wished would be directed at him. A satisfying blush blooms on his cheeks. 

“Beautiful,” Harry says roughly. He lunges forward to nestle his face into the downy, blonde hair with a moan.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Draco grits through his teeth.

Draco’s cock caresses against the rough stubble at the side of Harry’s face, dislodging his glasses and smearing pre-come near his ear. The glasses clatter to the decking.

“Did you hear that?” A voice from the deck below.

Draco stiffens and Harry raises his hand, twisting his fingers in the air. Draco’s bollocks draw up tight as Harry’s magic, conjured nonverbally, swirls and eddies around them and encases them in a quiet bubble. Draco’s cock throbs again, dribbling more pre-come.

“You like that,” Harry says, lips curved with amusement and warm on the base of Draco’s cock. He draws his mouth up the edge of Draco’s shaft, base to tip. “You like my magic.”

“I like it, _fuck, I like it,_ ” Draco exhales, his brain barely processing the gorgeous image of Harry Potter tonguing a bead of pre-come from the slit of his cock. He bites the inside of his mouth to muffle his whimper.

“My magic likes you,” Harry says. “I like you.”

Harry opens his mouth wide and extends his tongue to slide underneath the tip of Draco’s cock, his breath a gossamer touch, his magic pressing tight against Draco’s body. Knuckles brush firmly against the underside of Draco’s bollocks and bliss heats the base of Draco’s spine. It spreads, expanding, soaking into muscle and bone. Saliva floods Draco’s mouth and he watches, hunched in on himself, as a string of drool drips off his open lips to land on Harry’s cheek. Harry’s eye corners crinkle, and he smiles as much as he can with his mouth open, cheeks pulled taut and tongue outstretched. 

But it’s enough that a dimple forms at the corner of his mouth, a crater into which Draco’s saliva pools. 

And Draco comes. 

Harry seals his lips around Draco’s pulsing cock, cupping his arse and inviting him to push deeper into wet heat. Draco thrusts through his climax, eyelids fluttering and his mind flashing _good_ , and _more_ , and _fuck,_ and _please, Harry, please._ Harry groans in response, and Draco vaguely wonders if maybe he’s spoken his pleas out loud. 

But no matter. 

Because bloody hell—he’s _still coming._

* * *

Draco’s vision returns piecemeal, his mind processing in gaps. 

The salt air cooling his bare torso.

The waves crashing in the distance.

The deck scratching beneath his feet and voices conversing below.

Harry sits back in the deck chair. He wipes his slick chin with the back of his hand, swiping a smile onto his lips. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco sees a flash and turns to catch the tail end of Harry’s stag Patronus canter through the glass door. Movement draws his attention back to Harry, lazily Summoning his glasses and jumper. He Vanishes Theo’s hoodie with a sharp snap and places the jumper into Draco’s hands.

Draco blinks, his mind clouded with endorphins. He hugs the jumper to his chest. It smells sweet like summer fruit, sharp like a smoky bonfire, woodsy like tanned skin. 

Like everything he’s ever wanted. 

His head spins.

From the deck below he hears Hermione exclaim, “Look, Harry’s Patronus.”

He hears Harry’s voice, tinny and distant. “Good night, from Draco and Harry. Settle your bets, mates.” 

Shouts and hollers explode into the humid night air. Ron yells, “I told you! _I fucking told you!”_ and Luna calls out, “We will send up water and snacks!”

Harry laughs, carefree, and Draco frowns, attempting to right himself. “Awfully presumptuous of you, Potter.”

“Back to Potter, eh?” Harry leans forward, arms propped on knees. “Given your state of undress, I assumed you were going to stay.”

Draco realizes his dick is still out. “ _Fuck!_ ” He covers himself with the jumper and Accios his wand. “You could _ask_ me to stay, you heathen.”

“Are you going to stay?”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Harry stares for two full breaths before he asks, “Do you want to stay?”

Draco narrows his eyes.

“I lived with Ron in a tent for nine months,” Harry says. “I can do this all night.”

Draco scoffs. “You are a menace.” He takes his wand and cleans himself up, tucking himself back into his shorts.

“Point that Scourgify my way, too, if you please.” 

Draco pauses mid-tuck and Harry gestures to the evidence of his climax smeared on his bare belly. Harry’s shorts are unbuttoned and a blush expands on the top of his cheeks. 

“I couldn’t help myself,” he says, biting his lip. “The feel of you on my tongue, the taste of you and, fuck, the noises you make when you come, I mean—” He blushes harder. Even his chest is blushing as he scrubs the back of his head. “You’re every wet dream I’ve ever had.”  
  
“How crude,” Draco says, hopelessly fond. He glances away at the ocean expanding into the distance. A forgotten kite soars nearby, dancing in an onshore breeze, and his heart soars with it. He punches his arms into the jumper’s sleeves and shrugs it over his head, overwhelmed by Harry all over again.

The question of staying is moot because of course he wants to stay. He was just brilliantly sucked off by the blazing hot bloke whom he fancies, and he desires a cuddle and more kissing. And maybe some light petting. 

For eternity.

Warm hands, press tentatively against his abdomen, and Draco stills inside the jumper. 

“Of course I want you to stay,” Harry says, a smile in his voice, fingers dancing over skin and tapping on scars. “I just brilliantly sucked off the blazing hot bloke whom I fancy—”

Draco closes his eyes. He breathes heavily, warming the darkness inside the jumper, thankful his Mortified Face is now hidden.

“And I definitely want to cuddle him,” Harry continues. “And kiss him and pet him lightly.” Fingers re-trace paths up Draco’s chest and tug the jumper down. 

Draco’s head pops out, and he immediately covers his hot face with his hands. “Bloody hell,” he mutters.

Harry takes hold of Draco’s wrists and prises them open, peeking underneath. “I was also thinking that he could fall asleep in my arms and then I could wake him up with my mouth and eat his arse for breakfast. _For eternity._ ”

Draco stares into smiling green eyes, green eyes pulling him in from a turbulent sea, calling him into a safe harbor.

Harry smiles, bright like the sun. “Will you stay?”

Draco drops to Harry’s lap and kisses him breathless.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me indulgently lurking on [tumblr](http://peachpety.tumblr.com/).
> 
> * * *
> 
> 💋 This work is part of the Taste of Smut Fest, a Harry Potter-centered fest dedicated to the five senses: taste, touch, smell, hearing, and sight. 
> 
> If you’ve enjoyed this work, please do shower our content creators with kudos and comments! 💌
> 
> [Please check out the fest's tumblr for more posts and updates](https://tasteofsmut.tumblr.com/)


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